


banana bus squad gets funky, office edition

by orphan_account



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Author might not finish, Delirious being big dumb, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overworked, Tags Are Hard, YouTube, alt universe in 2019 but every forementioned youtuber never became a youtuber, everyone is either narcissistic, luke's just being a supportive pal, no beta we die like men, now i must decide whos all three, or stupid, thats it thats the fanfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-02 14:32:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20277448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: step one: if it breathes, demonetize it and copyright everything.stonks.- Tyler Wine, Head of Copyright and Demonetization Branch (CDB).





	banana bus squad gets funky, office edition

**Author's Note:**

> if i finish this shit it'll be a miracle because i have bad attention span, the longer i write the more bored i get. im so sorry if this stays unfinished. its a fight against my myself.
> 
> disclaimer: i have no fucking clue how youtube hq works, i am only going from my brain and shit i read on google jobs. i dont know whats going on.  
disclaimer disclaimer: author's a southern hermit who isn't aware with california's daily life. i will be wrong 100 percent of the time.  
disclaimer disclaimer disclaimer: these people are their own people, gotta respect. fanfic was only made out of an idea, i dont condone forcing any romantic relationship between any of the guys in the case i do add it.  
disclaimer disclaimer disclaimer: i quickly fixed any grammar mistakes so its gonna be a wreck. theres probably some issues in this.

Jonathan Denis, idiot extraordinaire, peaked in the summer of '99, a very defining point of his childhood when he realized having a goal in life was a thing. A very overrated part of a kid's time growing up, so you bet he tried it himself. Realistically though, Jonathan wasn't a very talented boy, a bit slower than most of his classmates in school and not especially good at anything but he would never admit defeat. That's why he set a totally realistic goal one scorching summer afternoon. "One day I'mma be rich!" His sisters, four in total, eyed the dumbass in annoyance. 

"You always say that but you know we're stuck in here; don't start lyin' to yourself, Jon." He could never stand that wicked look, feeling his cheeks flush in irritation. 

The young boy, Jon, crossed his arms around his teddy bear and scowled. "Shut up stupids, I said what I said. If you don't believe me the back of yo heads is ridiculous!"

In sisterly unison, the girls guffawed and copied his nasally whining, "Back of yo heads! Ridiculous!" 

"MOM! THE GIRLS'RE BULLYING ME AGAIN." And so it began. 

By the time he'd reached his 32nd birthday, Jon was crawling out of his home state with the money he saved up working at his father's farm- despite his sisters' many protests - and into the West with hopes of stardom, fortune, and bitches. In what, he had not prepared for at all but he figured he'd have something by the time he arrived into the claws of California.

He did not.

"Move it, asshole." Sneers and shoves left and right when he first arrived in San Bruno's bustling streets on a Monday; it was very clear that Jon hadn't belonged there in the first place. He smiled cheekily despite it, pushing back in equal force,"'scuuuuuze me, 'scuze me, got to pass through real quick." The short man slid between warm bodies and the irritating fabric of backpacks, moving through oceans of workers groaning and moaning to get to work. Unlike them, he was just excited to follow the coordinates sent in texts during his plane, find his online friend of several years, and relax over a game of Cards against Humanity. 

Now he was actually there, gripping the burly man in a bear-hug embrace. "Luke, holy fuck..." His voice cracked upon seeing him, "I missed you!"

The bearded guy sniggered and pat Jon's back, "You texted me earlier? And keep it down, neighbor's don't want noise." Luke gestured his head towards his living room, Jon easily taking the message and scrambling in with his luggage. As per usual he packed absolutely nothing but worn down clothes and his comfort teddy bears. The thing was as light as a feather and rather than clanking loudly upon hitting the side of Luke's coffee table, it let out a pathetic `womp.` Huh. Luke had a surprisingly modern apartment with every piece of furniture either red or a daunting black... looked a lot better than his trailer home if he was being honest.

Jon huddled into one of Luke's leather armchairs, looking up at the man in satisfaction. "Yeah but been a while since we've seen each other in person - oh damn, did you grow your beard out more?"

"Can say the same for you, where'd your babyface go? Got that fuckin' stubble beard." Luke followed suit and sprawled onto his leather sofa, legs crossed and sipped on what Jon assumed was coffee. He'd have to ask for some later; jet lag's gonna be a bitch in a few hours. "And now I gotta deal with you screamin' like a madman all the time. huh?"

"Shuuuuch up, I'll be outta your hair in a month tops." 

That was a lie. One month living with Luke, no job. Jon could only lay on his futon and acknowledge his newly-born depression in the face of inadequacy. Luke had been pretty successful on his own, working full-time as a cars mechanic to a decent gig down the road from their apartment, but he was afraid he could never say the same for himself. His best friend would have to work harder to maintain both of 'em if he stayed. 

He whimpered and wrapped himself into a blanket burrito, hiding from the oppressive rays of light coming through his bedroom window. Yesterday fucking sucked, plus the police were probably still after him for almost killing an old guy.

Even with that accounted he should have clearly met the requirements, his acting was on par with every goddamn famous dude of Hollywood - drunk Elvis Presley impression for the win - but he almost kills the director, and suddenly he's the bad guy. 

It was following his audition for the leading role that he had the unfortunate run-in with the director backstage.

More accurately, his scorching brew of coffee had a run-in with the man's... lower parts. "Oh-oh my god, I'm so sorry-" No response, Mr. Director continued to lay on the floor. He could be dead, it wouldn't be that far-fetched. "I-I left it in the coffee thing for a bit, I'm not really used to using it. Just don't make it on my own, the stuff can get really bad. Because personally, once my mom told me that coffee-"

He continued to ramble as if his life depended on it because it did. He felt almost rabid as he sputtered around the immobilized man, spit flying with every word and sweat building under his pits. Everyone gathered around the old geezer who'd yet to respond to the hoodied bastard screaming his lungs out erratically at him. Jon's ass was on the line and he could feel himself looking stupider with every passing minute, other contenders for the casting eyeing him up and down in all his coffee-smelling, foaming-mouth glory.

He had literally become a rabid dog, screeching whatever came into the enigma that is his brain. "- and that's why I think the government was attempting to cover up Epstein's murder as a suicide. Fucked up, right?" 

Someone raised their voice, a young woman with short hair gritting her teeth. "What the hell is your deal! You could have killed him!" Jon lifted both hands in defense, which only made his sweating worse. 

"I know! I know but I swear's an accident, I'm really clumsy and-" 

All worries were tempered when Mr. Director shakily pointed his wrinkly fingers at him, "You," he huffed, "leave my studio right now." 

"Wait- wait please, I'm sorry sir. I can fix this, I can-" The equivalent of a light bulb popped over his head. "I'll get you a napkin! Yeah! Where you guys got them?" 

"No! You'll make the situation worse. Let me do it, goddammit." The short-haired lady began to sashay off-stage with the task, but he wouldn't give up yet. The more chances he had to redeem himself the better. 

"Hey c'mon, I'm sorry. I can help, please just let me-" Jon struggled to keep up with her as she zoomed past a clutter of video equipment, their cords haphazardly thrown around the set. "It can't get any worse!" 

But it can get worse, and it did when Jon hadn't taken into account how much he'd stepped in his spilled coffee. 

In slow motion, he lost his balance and toppled over the cords ass-first into one of the professional cameras. The chain reaction of falling tripods began; one after another, they tipped over each other like a game of Dominos, each followed by a loud echo in the studio. 

After the last thud, all eyes were on him, the middle-aged man now huddled on the floor wallowing in a puddle of cheap coffee. 

Jon gingerly scratched the back of his neck and glanced towards everyone else, eyes widened in surprise. If looks could kill, the director would have slaughtered him in cold blood by now; he glared, eyes fuming with anger and all of it directed towards him. "So... um, do I... by any chance, still get the part?" Every person in radius raised their noses in distaste. Everyone disliked that. 

"Shelly, call the fucking police on this idiot."

He'd never run that fast in all his years, adrenaline pumping through his limbs and still... so discerningly sweaty even through the hoodie. Maybe the blue fabric was a bad idea today. Yeah probably, he responded to his own thoughts over the noise of police sirens screeching behind him. Oh yeah, he was still running on the sidewalk from the police. Jon screamed.

\------

California sucks, let's establish that. Had Jon known, he would have stayed in Virginia with his mother and four sisters but based on his double negative bank, he would probably loiter long enough to contract an STD from a Chinese hooker or get fucked by an earthquake. Right now though, none of those things happened as he waited outside Mini's Mini Fro-Yo for Luke. Dude wanted to take his girlfriend for a day out, which meant Jon had the freedom to loudly wack his schlong at home, but she insisted Jon come with them. Dejected, he munched on savory, succulent, lactose goodness. Pornhub could wait, the yogurt was really good beyond comparison.

All in good fun to be the third wheel I guess, he thought sourly. 

"I know- yes, I know that. However, my job would be so fucking easy if you guys picked up after yourselves- YES, I AM AWARE. BUT YOU GUYS NEED TO BE CLEAN, WE'RE GETTING REPORTS OF RATS- FUCKING RATS- IN THE BUILDING."

One of the people sitting down at the tables shouted into their phone, a dark-skinned guy with an impeccably formal wardrobe. Probably one of the corporate entities in the area, Jon noted. It didn't involve him but he couldn't help but snoop as the man's voice got progressively quieter, drowned out by the sound of traffic zooming by.

"Please... just tell Tyler we can cut the funds for office snacks and direct it towards a janitor salary." Now that definitely got his attention. He could clean, years of living in a farmhouse practically called for it. "Plus only person who actually eats them all is Evan - he can easily buy the shit on his own. Guy's a lawyer for god's sake."

A smug grin spread on his face, but it wasn't inconspicuous as he thought he'd be. The guy was staring him head-on with a disturbingly blank look when he did it.

"Okay. Well, you don't need to worry about that. I already have someone." he squinted his eyes before continuing, "He's with me riiiiight now. I'm prepared for my job, bitch. Wanna talk to him?" Jon's eyes widened, opening his mouth but saying nothing to the guy. He knew he was passing himself too much credit... he didn't clean office buildings, he cleaned cow dung. The man in question covered his phone with his free hand and mouthed, "hey c'mere." 

"Me...?" He was caught out of his element, nearly dropping his fro-yo but scampering towards the business suit guy anyway. The man motioned him to grab the phone and speak into it, a devilish twinkle in his eyes. Jon couldn't decline; he'd gone too far into whatever was happening when he borrowed the man's cellphone. "H-hey, man."

A peppy Irish accent broke out on the other side, "Oh- oh wow, good afternoon... jesus, did Marcel really just hire a crackhead..." Jon grimaced but figured he was trying to say that under his breath. He made no effort to respond. "You're in for the janitor position, correct?"

"Yup. That's me. Me a lot. Very much me." He was a shitty liar, his teeth chattering as he assured the presumably Irish speaker. The businessman sitting in front of him gave him an unamused scoff and gesticulated his hands for Jon to continue. "...I think you'd need me. A lot. I'm, uh, good at cleaning. I've been had a pet rat before too, I can grab them and stuff."

"Um... sure. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, but I'm gonna need to put you for an interview first for Sunday. Is that okay with you?" The sound of loud scribbling over the call. 

"I'm down. Call me Early Bird because um- because I'll be there early-for- for worms and stuff." 

"What kind of retarded shit did he just... Okay, perfect! We'll talk the details 10:30 AM Sunday, I'll keep this number just in case. Thank you for your interest and we hope to see you at Youtube HQ soon! Now fuck off." The call abruptly ended before Jon could say goodbye. He placed the phone down, set his elbows on the table, and aggressively rubbed his temples. What the fuck did he just do; he cleaned horse shit, not office buildings. 

The businessman from before, Marcel if he heard right, swiped back his cell and clapped giddily. "Holy shit. You just saved my ass. I owe you so much, dude." 

Jon nodded his head, grumbling under his breath "Uh-huh. Does this mean I actually get the job?"

"If I can find a guy that looks and sounds exactly like you, you'll be fine. Now, what's my hero's name?" 

God, it didn't matter now. Jon wouldn't be able to get another job even if he tried.

"You won't," he furrowed his brows in confusion. "Jon - please let me keep the job." 

"I was being sarcastic, calm your tits." He outstretched his hand, Jon taking the initiative to shake it vigorously. His palms were uncontrollably sweaty- he was hoping Marcel wouldn't notice but the man cringed and quickly pulled back. "Marcel Cunningham, Co-Head of Youtube's CBE. Just call me Marcel, nice to meet you." Jon had already made a bad impression on the guy but he pursed his lips into a thin smile. "Yo, Jon!" 

Cue the entrance of his savior, the shopkeeper bell rang to signal Luke's exit from the store. Any second longer and he would have started bawling at the awkward energy radiating painfully from the conversation."Sorry for taking so long, Genay's talkin' Housewives with the cashier lady right now. I don't know who Melissa Blake is but god, she sounds like a cuuuunt. We gotta watch the latest season if I wanna understand-" Jon was confused by the pause until he realized Marcel was waving to his best friend. Luke raised his head in acknowledgment. "Who dat?"

"Your average Joe, got your friend here a job at Youtube. You're welcome," he stood up from his seat, a weirdly smooth beat in his step. This dude was slick, not just in attire but his demeanor. His whole aesthetic screamed cool guy and it impressed Jon, not that he would admit it anyway. "Gotta head off now, my break ended a few minutes ago." He winked at both men before turning on his heel and walking further down the plaza. "You know where to find the Youtube headquarters! Sunday, 10:30 AM. I'll meet you at the front desk." 

Jon raised two thumbs-up, "Gotcha. See you then?" Marcel didn't answer back, the southerner unsure if he just didn't hear him or didn't care. Oh well, didn't matter; he knew where he was heading.

Luke hummed as he watched Marcel disappear across the street, "you get up to way too much weird shit when I'm gone." Jon cackled wildly, taking no time to chew on his half-melted yogurt. Might as well enjoy his time free while he has it. 


End file.
